


A Wolf At the Door

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Selectively Mute Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: There's more to Erik than initially meets the eye.Eleven does his best to remember his manners, because according to all the books he's read if there's one thing you don't want to do, it's piss off a creature you don't fully understand. Manners matter when it comes to monsters and their lesser-known offshoots.(One thing none of the records mention: manners can earn you more than just returning politeness, and some species are notoriouslypossessivearound people they consider to be theirs.)
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

“Right. Let’s call it here for the night, shall we?” 

El nods, gratefully sighing and pulling his meager bag off his shoulder, laying it on the ground beside him as he collapses by the fire Erik is poking at. Within moments the thief has it kindling up to a decent flame, and then into a magnificent one that warms Eleven all the way down to the tips of his sore feet. It feels nice.  _ ‘Thank you’ _ he says, and Erik grins at him, pointed and relaxed at the edges, like he does when he’s really pleased with something he’s done for them.

“My pleasure boss,” he settles on the ground there, watching El through the flame as he stretches and works kinks out of his sore muscles. In the light of the fire, his eyes seem to glimmer with the faintest hint of  _ other,  _ and perhaps out of reflex now, El glances up and checks what sort of moon it’s going to be tonight. Quarter, maybe. Half, if they’re lucky. He tries to keep track of the cycles so he knows how much light they’re working with, but with all the running they’re doing from Hendrik’s men, it’s hard to do so most of the time. 

Eleven wasn’t fooled, the first time they met. Even then, with his head covered by a hood and barely any outward sign other than suspicion to go off of, Erik radiated a kind of… wildness in him that most humans never do. Eleven knows there’s more to Erdrea than just human-kind, that there are probably more species of  _ ‘other’ _ than he can shake a stick at. Even if Cobblestone liked to disregard such things as old wives’ tales, and look the other way at any particularly ‘odd’ behavior, Eleven researched and made himself learn for the sake of not insulting anyone. 

That’s one thing the books and stories both made perfectly clear, at least - you never insult what you don’t understand.

El has done his best to keep to that golden rule, no matter what he and Erik have gone through. 

He yawns loudly, hastily covering his mouth with a hand.  _ ‘Sorry’ _ , he says with the other, but Erik just snickers.

“Tired? And here I was, ready to ask if you wanted anything to eat. You need more meat on your bones, y’know. Too skinny.”

_ ‘No thank you’ _ , El replies. _ ‘I think I’ll just turn in early. Enjoy your meal.’  _ He rubs tired eyes, and pulls the blanket from his bag, using the bag as his pillow as he settles down for the night. He's asleep in moments.

El doesn’t know when Erik leaves, or even when he comes back. He wakes to the fire out, while in a distance that seems far too close, the howls and calls of wild beasts. Beasts not deterred by the sacred statue of the Goddess.

He tries to get up when the sounds come even closer, only for a hand to yank him down, and a warm body to curl around his back, Erik’s arm settling back over his hip. There's a heavy weight to him, as he nuzzles his face into the back of El's neck. Goosebumps break out over his flesh, and he wriggles in an attempt to get away, but Erik’s weight only settles on him more heavily, more firmly.

“Shhhhh. Yer fine,” Erik tells him, voice soft. “Go back to sleep. They won't come closer, I promise."

There's a hint of the indomitable will spreading through Erik's voice now, a will he's heard before and seen the results of, back when he thought Derk betrayed him. He's reminded in the space of a heartbeat just what Erik  _ is,  _ and he finds himself relaxing back into the grip, still alarmed as the howls and snarling calls seem to echo all around them, but he trusts Erik's word.

Nimble fingers comb through his hair, gently scratching his scalp, luring him back down. His eyes grow heavy in no time, and he yawns, breathing in the smells of the forest around him, letting Erik's warmth drag him back down to sleep.

He wakes again, later, to find dawn peeking over the tips of the trees, a small fire burning again while Erik carves through a massive antlered beast with relish, tying chunks of leg and thigh to sticks and setting them over the fire to cook.

"Mornin," Erik greets without looking up as El stretches and yawns. "Breakfast is in a few. The monsters down by the river cleared out for a bit, so if you wanna go take a quick dip, you can."

A good idea; El was starting to wonder just how ripe he would be before his next chance to bathe would come. He nods, pulling the spare set of clothes he has out of his bag and heading for the river. Even cold as the water is, having a chance to scrub the grime from his body feels amazing. 

Erik has breakfast waiting when he gets back to camp, and grins as he offers out a plate to El. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd been eaten," he teases as El tears into the meat with enthusiasm. The meat tastes divine after nearly a week of eating nothing but thin gruel from the dungeons or berries and roots from the areas around them. He doesn’t know how Erik brought the beast down, but he’s immensely grateful, and says so, as soon as his hands are no longer occupied.

Erik just looks far too pleased, cutting another piece of meat from the pole hanging over the fire, and offering it out. “Seconds?”

El takes it with gratitude, but holds his hand up against thirds, and only then does Erik dig in his own self, finishing off the carcass in one smooth go. Together they clean up the little campsite, pack their things up again, and turn back towards the road leading to the Falls.

X-x-x-x-x

“It’s from your Mother or something, right? Don’t worry, you can tell me about it later. What about the other one?”

El’s glad Erik’s staying as calm as he is. Because right now El’s hands are shaking, and something in his chest is breaking apart as he reads his mother’s last words, and so staying calm is impossible. So he’s glad that Erik’s looking at him with a sort of calm understanding, and not pity, or repulsion. 

_ ‘But I do know that the answers are out there somewhere. The Keystone in this box will open the Door of Departure off to the east. You must go out into the world and seek the truth. Remember, now! Don’t waste your time bearing grudges, and live life with love in your heart. All the best, now and forever, Granddad.’ _

He stares at the words, feeling like his insides are going to come up out of his throat. He swallows, wills the tears burning behind his eyes back. He’d thought it a misunderstanding with King Carnelian - an unlucky happenstance. Now though, he wonders if that’s truly  _ all  _ it is.

Erik’s hand clamps tight on his shoulder before he can start spiraling into ‘what ifs’, and he startles, taking in a sharp, shaking breath and nodding at the wordless instructions, folding everything up and putting it back in the box. The box goes inside the satchel for safekeeping - he’s not leaving anything behind for Carnelian and his  _ vultures  _ to find.

It’s a brief thing, to explain the important bits to a keen-eyed Erik, who accepts the words as easily as breathing, and continues to remain steady, even when El stumbles on the last few words, tucking his hands behind his back and biting his lip in an effort to keep the tears back. 

“So, we use the Keystone to open the Door of Departure, huh?” Erik cracks his neck, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Sounds easy enough. You better believe I’m coming with you.”

_ ‘You are?’ _ El asks, shocked. He was sure this was where Erik would declare him  _ too much trouble,  _ and demand to be taken to the Kingsbarrow, or just… leave.

But instead, Erik stands there, accepting what’s been put in front of him, and perfectly willing to go on. The thief smiles slightly.

“Yes, I am. Now, you said it was east of here, right? Let’s stop by the Kingsbarrow for a brief sec, grab the orb, and then haul off towards that Door.”

He hooks an arm around El’s shoulders as they turn to go, tugging him close and not saying a word as El ducks his head trembles. 

And if he sees the tears sliding down El’s face as they go, he doesn’t acknowledge them.

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


The Kingsbarrow would be an interesting place to visit, were it not for the copious amounts of bodies that litter the inner walkway as soon as they step foot inside. Erik stops short immediately, wrapping an arm around El and pulling him back behind him as he scents the air, proverbial hackles raised. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Whoever did this wasn’t human.”

A cold gust of air sends El shivering, and Erik turns his head, shifting his body just slightly. “Well, that answers the question of ‘what they came for’.” 

Behind the great statue of a double-headed eagle, the path leading downstairs is wide open. 

“Stay behind me,” Erik orders sharply, and prowls ahead, looking far less like an innocent human than he did before they walked through the door. It doesn’t even cross El’s mind to disobey, not when the absolute silence of the tomb and bodies on the floor say Erik has the right idea.

Slowly, they make their way down, down, and eventually, reach the treasure room. And even from a distance, El can see the glow of the Red Orb, but then--

Gryphons. Two of them, massive beasts, blue and green and crowing out their victory for anyone to hear --  _ “like taking candy from a baby!” _

And Erik snarls, standing upright, “That orb belongs to  _ us,  _ birdbrains! Back off!”

Once upon a time, El would have grabbed Erik and run back in the opposite direction, too cautious to want to fight such large creatures so openly. Now however, he watches the birds hurl themselves towards Erik with all speed, watches Erik bare his teeth even as he grabs his daggers, and all he can think is  _ I can’t lose him too. _

And so, he fights.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

“You’re some kinda lucky charm, ya know that?”

El groans softly into Erik’s palm, cracking open an eye to regard his partner. Erik scrubs another streak of blood away from his temple, and nods. “You are, y’know. Never had a partner that moved  _ with  _ me, and not against me. Certainly never on the battlefield.”

Across stone floors scored by remnants of flame and claws, the bodies of the two gryphons lay crumpled, purple blood pooling from beneath them. It had been a harsh, relentless fight; El could barely keep up, but he’d flung healing spells at Erik and slashed at the gryphons until they’d both crumpled, even as he’d taken hits that should have otherwise killed him.

Now Erik mops him up with a stretch of cloth torn from his own outfit, wet with water from the flask they share, carefully scrubbing blood both his and not from his body. Each time Erik finds another wound, his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. He doesn’t have healing spells, but El has medicine in his pouch, and rubs each wound with some, well-used to the sting by now.

_ ‘Just trying to keep you safe’  _ he says, too exhausted to be embarrassed, even when Erik pauses, eyes on his hands.  _ ‘I’ve lost too much. You’re important too.’ _

“Hrm,” Erik says, and wets the cloth again. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere, yeah?” El closes one eye as Erik wipes away the last of the mess, looking him over and nodding. “Stitching is gonna have to wait ‘til camp, but you should hold until then. There’s a campsite not far beyond the Kingsburrow. We’ll crash there, get ourselves fixed up, and head out.”

Thankfully getting  _ out  _ of the Kingsburrow is much easier than getting  _ in,  _ and within what feels like a handful of minutes to El they’re safe at a little campsite off the coast, Erik pulling needle and thread from his own satchel while El wipes the wounds down again. 

“Right,” Erik says, and offers him a hardy block of wood with bite marks on it. “You’re gonna want this.”

El is immensely for the block, having never been given stitches before. The needle itself isn’t terrible, but the draw of the thread feels like a blade slicing his flesh, and he’s helpless against the noises that come through regardless, even as he bites down hard enough to leave indents. Erik doesn’t pause to reassure him or soothe his pain, working as fast and efficiently as he can, finishing first one stitch then the other, and then finally the third. By the time it’s over, Eleven feels like he could pass out and sleep.

“C’mon,” Erik urges, and helps him to his feet, holds him while he wobbles, the echoes of pain making his legs tremble. “Sooner we get somewhere safe, sooner we can sleep and enjoy the fact that we’re still alive.”

And so they cross what’s left of the space between them and the Door, past the coast, through a small rocky cove, and out into a wide, open field. 

They’ve only just begun their way across when the sound of hoofbeats overhead draws Erik’s attention, and he whirls, a snarl on his face.

“Did you really think you would escape me, Darkspawn?” Hendrik’s voice demands, and Eleven looks up to find Hendrik and his men atop the cliff, glaring down at him with such a rage that it makes him  _ tremble. _

“Right, time to go,” Erik hisses, and grabs him, and they  _ run. _

It’s a wild, frantic chase that makes El feel sick even as his brain pounds with the knowledge that if he stops he’s dead, if he stops, if  _ they stop,  _ he’ll be executed before dawn comes again, and he can’t let that happen. And so even as one horse falls, and then another, even as he and Erik flee on foot against the literal army bearing down on them, he doesn’t stop.

The Keystone opens the Door, and together he and Erik are flung far, far away from Hendrik and his men, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality he can almost believe is real.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


They land somewhere else, somewhere that has thick, warm air currents, and the smell of ash and soot. That’s all El knows right now, because he has his face pressed against the cold tile of the room, and is trying his best to hold off getting sick. Beside him, Erik has shifted onto his knees, and is gently stroking up and down his spine with a hand, trying to help. 

El appreciates that. Appreciates that since this whole madness started, all Erik’s tried to do is  _ help.  _ Eleven is the fuckup in this scenerio. 

“Did the Seer tell you about this part?” he mumbles out loud, sucking in another lungful of thick, smoky air and telling himself  _ if you get sick Hendrik wins. Don’t get sick. Don’t. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.  _ “Where the Luminary spends half the time being an over-emotional idiot about everything?”

“Nah, think they might have left that part out, actually,” Erik calmly retorts. That’s another thing. He’s so  _ relaxed  _ about everything - maybe it’s because he’s unconcerned with the affairs of mortals. 

_ Maybe he’s a dragon,  _ El thinks.  _ He likes gold and valuables, doesn’t really take an interest in anything or anyone beyond what he views as ‘his’, and he’s protective of his turf. Could be a dragon.  _

“But you know, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” Erik continues, unaware of El’s thoughts. “Most idiots I know don’t have the mental depth to go having emotions appropriate to their situation like you have. So in that respect, I’d say you’re doing fine.” In the light of the sun, his eyes seem to flash gold briefly. “Congrats, you’ve proven you’ve got a heart between those lungs of yours. How terrible.”

The words are so unexpected, the tone so utterly light that it startles something like a hiccuping laugh out of El’s mouth. He covers it, but Erik smirks like it’s the sound he’s been waiting to hear. With one final pat, he offers a hand to El, helping him to his feet. 

“Right,” he says, and pops his neck. “Onwards.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


“Better now?”

Eleven doesn’t want to open his eyes. He bobs a nod though, yawning as he does. Across from him, the water obscuring anything below the chest, Erik watches El with eyes crinkled in amusement. 

Hotto, this place is called, a town situated astride a volcano, the natural springs of the area fed by the warmth of the lava deep underground. El feels like he could stay in the bath forever, soaking himself in the joy of the water and the atmosphere. 

Neither one of them had known what to expect, stepping foot inside a town in a region neither of them recognized. El had half-expected to hear the name ‘Heliodor’ at least once, but none of the townsfolk seem to recognize there’s a world beyond Hotto. Which means that for the time, at least, El doesn’t need to worry about getting found out and turned in.

The water shifts as Erik wades towards him, a soapy cloth in hand. “You’re gonna prune at the rate you’re going. If we want a chance at that steam bath the guy’s offering, we’re gonna have to get clean. Hold still, now.”

_ ‘I can do it,’ _ El says, and tries to take the cloth from Erik’s hand. No dice though, as Erik lifts it higher, and shakes his head.

“Let me,” he insists, and there’s a strange look in his eyes now as he regards El. “We gotta look out for each other now. I wanna make sure you didn’t get hurt again.”

So El closes his eyes and lets Erik take first one arm, and then the other, and scrub him clean. The bath in the icy river seems so long ago now, or maybe it’s just that he just didn’t do as good a job as he thought he had at the time, with the fear of Hendrik lurking around every corner.

“Right, hold still. Keep your eyes shut.” The smell of something floral washes over him, as Erik’s hands begin to comb through his hair, nails scrubbing against his scalp. “Well what do you know, you  _ do  _ have a layer of skin under all that dirt. Now the rinse. Eyes still shut.”

A bucket of warm water is poured over his mess, one of Erik’s hands sifting through his hair as it goes. 

“There we go. Now you’re looking a little more human.”

He certainly feels like it. _ ‘Thanks’. _

“You’re welcome. Now that we’re both squeaky clean, how about we take advantage of those steam baths? We can’t stay too long, but we should at least enjoy what we can while we can.”

The reminder that even out in the unknown world Hendrik and his men still hunt them puts a curl of anxiety in the pit of El’s stomach. How long  _ can  _ they keep avoiding the guards of Heliodor?

A hand presses itself down on top of his head before he can get too far. “Ah-ah,” Erik chides. “None of that. I promised I’d stick with you, didn’t I? We’ll keep each other safe from now on. So don’t go worryin’ about things that haven’t even happened yet. Worry about what’s in your control, nothing else.”

Once upon a time, Chalky had said something similar to him.  _ “My lad, you can’t go controlling every horse in the pen. It just don’t work like that. Only thing you’ve got control of is the horse that’s under  _ you.  _ So you worry about your horse, and you leave the others to worry about theirs. If everyone does their part, then everything will work out.” _

Hendrik isn’t in his control. Hotto isn’t in his control. There’s just him and his choices, and his reactions. 

“And while we’re on the subject,” Erik says as he leads them to the door of the steamhouse. “You can quit feeling guilty about dragging me along. I’m here for as much my own reasons as for you, and if I didn’t want to come, I wouldn’t. It’s as simple as that.”

_ ‘If you insist’,  _ El says, for lack of anything else to say that won’t start an argument. 

“I do insist.” Erik pushes open the door to the steam room and says, “After you.”

It’s all so calm, so utterly peaceful. So El probably should have expected that not five minutes into the feeling of his pores opening up, they hear the sound of sobbing, and find a little girl whose missing her Daddy.

And then, en-route to the last place she saw him - the bar - they witness  _ yet another  _ little girl get tossed  _ out  _ of the bar, yelling something about her missing sister. 

El kind of wants to know which divine spirit has it in for them, as the girl turns eyes to El and positively  _ lights up.  _

“Well,” she demands, “Are you going to tell me your name, or not?”


	2. Chapter 2

Erik doesn’t mean for it to happen initially. It just… well, it kind of happens because of him. But also not because of him. Mostly because of El, who is quiet and kind-hearted and ridiculously brave even if he says he isn’t, and smells like fresh earth and the forests in summer and a little like wildflowers at the peak of bloom. 

_ Initially,  _ Erik dreams of the Seer, who tells him about the Luminary. And when the kid in the next cell over goes a little stir-crazy, Erik cracks a joke thinking he can calm the kid down. He gets it, okay? Jail’s not fun for anyone, but you gotta take it with a grain of salt. Carnelian isn’t a complete bastard, and the guards are more or less fine if you ignore the verbal jabs and take what you’re given. 

Except it turns out that the  _ kid  _ is the  _ Luminary,  _ and he’s gotten tossed down into the hellhole of Heliodor for the crime of being born. Because apparently the Luminary is evil now? Or something. Carnelian’s off his rocker clearly, one way or another. In any case Eleven manages to get that far before the sharp, sour stench of  _ panic-anxiety  _ completely wipes him out, and Erik has to think fast and talk faster to keep the kid -  _ El  _ \- from going off into the deep end. 

And then of course, one of the guards comes with the evening meal, and Erik doesn’t think, he just  _ reacts.  _ Fist in gut, keys in hand, sword over shoulder. He settles his eyes on El again, pale-faced and smelling like  _ weakness,  _ and Erik’s wolf snarls  _ leave him,  _ but he can’t. He keeps thinking on what the Seer said, and that combined with what he already knows of El is enough to decide him. 

They escape together, dodging guards, surviving a failed bridge, a  _ dragon  _ (seriously, Carnelian’s just fucking  _ nuts _ ) and then yet another fall that should have killed them. But Erik wakes whole and intact, next to Eleven, unconscious but also whole and intact, and the guards of Heliodor nowhere to be seen.

Proof, Erik tells his wolf, that Eleven isn’t weak. They’ve survived because of him, because Erik put his faith in El, and El didn’t let them down. The wolf concedes that fact, although it’s still unsure whether that makes Eleven worth the effort. A pack is only as strong as its members, and Eleven is… lacking in many aspects, Luminary or not.

_ He’s worth it,  _ Erik tells his wolf, as he gathers the too-light kid onto his back.  _ I’ll make him worth it. _

If only he’d known the irony of that statement at the time, he might have been wiser to keep his mouth shut.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Hey. You doin’ okay?”

Veronica’s been giving him the stink-eye all day. Serena, her sister, is less rude about it, but has also been feeding him and El cautious sideways looks. Evidently they know what he is, and they know the legacy of the moon-blooded. But that’s all they know. Erik decides it’s not worth the hassle of trying to explain his and El’s long, emotional backstory at this point, and they can either put up or shut up with his displays, because his wolf refuses to let Eleven go.

_ How the mighty have fallen,  _ he thinks of himself. 

Eleven nods, but the lines of stress around the edges of his eyes, the tightness at the corners of his mouth don’t leave. Erik scoots a little closer under the guise of feeding another stick to the fire. He catches sight of Veronica’s eyes narrowing, the way her hand drifts towards her stave like she’s stretching out a hand to relax back a bit, and mentally snarls at her.  _ Fickle,  _ they call moon-blooded.  _ Emotionally compromised.  _

And yeah, Erik’s been guided by the waxes and waning of the moon all his life, but it doesn’t mean he’s fucking  _ stupid.  _ He’s got El’s scent in his nose, and the sound of his heartbeat committed to memory. He’s not going to bite, or maul El. He’s not going to hurt him. And anything that  _ does  _ try to hurt El is going to wind up ripped to bits by the time Erik’s done with them. 

“Want to take a walk?”

Eleven considers it. At this point, Erik would be happy if the kid just stopped thinking so much. Ever since they beat Jarvis and his goons, El’s been thinking non-stop, evidently rolling the news of the ‘Dark One’ around in his head. Granted it’s not the first mention of it, it’s the furthest this stuff has spread. 

El nods at last, and stands. Veronica’s on her feet in an instant. “No!”

Erik sighs as El turns to stare at her, bemused. 

“It isn’t safe with him,” Veronica says, and her stave comes up, the head leaning towards Erik. “He’s not--”

“I know,” El says, using his voice rather than his hands, and as always his voice is so  _ soft,  _ and Erik shivers to hear it again. “But he won’t hurt me.”

_ Damn right I won’t.  _ Both he and the wolf are in agreement on that, now. Once, not so much. But now, now that they’ve had El by their side for a while, now that they know him, know what drives him, where his strengths and weaknesses lay, now they won’t hurt him. He’s too good to hurt, to harm. Not like the men Erik is used to dealing with. 

“You can’t know that for sure,” Veronica argues, as Serena looks at Erik. He can feel her considering him now, not merely judging based on what she thinks she knows. “He could get upset and--”

“You do realize what ‘moon-blooded’ means, right?” Erik asks out loud, before the argument can go further. He points up. “Means that unless  _ that  _ right there is in full glory, I’m as human as can be. And even then, it doesn’t mean I lose my ability to  _ think.  _ If I did, I’d have been shot and killed already.”

Their black mage falters, glancing over at her sister for backup. But Serena is nodding slowly now, agreeing with what Erik is pointing out. No wild wolf ever survives long - they start looking for ‘easy’ prey, which is usually sheep and cows, horses, even kids. All targets that live around cities and farms, where people can kill them. Bows and arrows exist for a reason. 

“We’re wilder than humans, yeah,” Erik finishes. “Doesn’t mean we’re  _ psycho.  _ I wouldn’t hurt El even if I was furry and twice his size. My wolf and I acknowledge him as pack. We don’t turn on pack. Ever.”

He leaves them behind, nudging El out on a familiar path. He hears the beginning sounds of an argument from Veronica as they round the corner - evidently she thinks Serena should have argued harder. But Serena’s smarter than that. And she’s got a keen know-how when it comes to people. Even if he’d been lying through his teeth, she would have seen that.

“Sorry about that,” Erik says. “And for not telling you, earlier.”

El shrugs one shoulder.  _ ‘It’s okay’,  _ he says, and Erik feels a pang of wistfulness that they’re back to the hands again. Still, it’s El’s life, and his method of speaking. Erik’s got no control over that and he’s not about to push El out of his comfort zone. There’s a reason for everything.  _ ‘I kind of knew, when we first met. You didn’t feel…’  _ He pauses, and considers the sky.  _ ‘You didn’t feel bland.’ _

“Bland? What, am I seasoning now?” Erik teases, and grins when El flushes. He reaches out and gently nudges their shoulders together. “I get what you mean, though. I try to keep it under wraps, but when you live in the slums, everyone kind of develops an edge after a while, even the humans. It’s easier to blend in if I pretend I’m just a little sharper than most. Unfortunately, outside of that kinda company, it tends to give me away.” 

He tries not to think of the various ways that’s gone wrong over the years - after all, just as with the thought that monsters might be sentient, not everyone is accepting of what he can do. Eleven’s proven he’s accepted Erik, that he’s not going to try to put a sword through his back in the middle of the night. “But we didn’t come out here to talk about that. C’mon, get it off your chest. You’ve been gnawing on this all day.”

They settle on a nearby fallen tree together, Erik leaning against it as El hops up to sit. For a while, all they do is that. And then Eleven says,  _ ‘I think I must be going crazy.’ _

“Why’s that?”

_ ‘Because everything we’ve dealt with so far feels… connected. Doesn’t it? First with King Carnelian, who according to everyone is a wise and just ruler. He throws me in the dungeon for being the Luminary, because by being born, I’ve brought the Lord of Shadows back. And now we’re hearing talk about the Lord of Shadows from monsters, and the monster movement is becoming more and more erratic.’ _

“You’re right,” Erik agrees, as El’s hands settle for a moment. “It does seem connected. Granted, it could just be Carnelian being a fruit loop. I mean the guy  _ is  _ getting up there in age, plus his daughter’s death sent him into shock. But with the Lord of Shadows - just ‘cause you’re supposedly the reincarnation of the Luminary doesn’t mean you have to do anything, El.”

_ ‘Then who?’  _ El asks, and the look in his eyes is  _ heartbreaking.  _ Erik wants to shift and curl around El until he stops looking like that.  _ ‘The Luminary’s responsibility has always been to the world, supposedly. And if I’m the reincarnation, isn’t my duty to the world, whether they accept me or not?’ _

Erik thinks to the burning buildings left in the wake of Jasper’s little ‘ride’ through Cobblestone, the absolute loathing on Hendrik’s face as he gazed down at the supposed  _ Darkspawn,  _ to the people that even now were perpetuating the rumors of Eleven into something even more frightful. “No,” he says softly, and maybe it’s his tone, or maybe Eleven just needs to hear that word for once in his life, but he looks at Erik. “No, because that’s not the way that works, El. Not even close. You didn’t ask for the title, you didn’t ask for this mystical power you seem to have, and you didn’t ask for the Lord of Shadows to come back. You don’t owe the world anything.”

_ ‘I wish I could believe that,’  _ El tells him, and then his hands drop back down, and his stare goes back to the sky, like he’s waiting for the answer to appear in the stars.

Erik tilts his own head back towards the sky, closing his eyes. “Whatever your decision,” he murmurs, “I’ll stick by your side.”

“Thank you,” El whispers back.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

Gallopolis is a beautiful city, even covered in sand like it is. The people are open and friendly, welcoming, and the soldiers of Gallopolis are certainly leagues better than the soldiers of Heliodor. 

Even if that's what some of them are talking about.

“Apparently some lunatics escaped from the Heliodor dungeons. King Carnelian’s warning people to be careful, and to send word immediately if they see anyone suspicious.”

“They say the prisoners are the Darkspawn and his vassal.”

“How are we supposed to enjoy the races if there’s some dark lord or another out running about? It’s absolutely ridiculous I tell you!”

Erik bites back retorts and snarls several times as El seems to grow smaller beneath the words. Serena sticks close to him, murmuring soft words at him now and again, while Veronica openly glowers at the speakers. 

Besides the horse race that’s coming up, it seems the circus has also come to town. There are posters and bunny girls all over the place, and acrobats practicing their tricks and stunts. Someone called ‘The Great Sylvando’ is supposed to appear, and people are losing their mind over it. 

All in all, it speaks of a very distracted public, which hopefully means a chance to get in, get the Rainbough, and get the hell back out.

Unfortunately, once they get to the palace, they find themselves in a bit of a roadblock.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the advisor to the Sultan says, bowing quickly. “But the Sultan is currently working on his speech for Prince Faris’ upcoming birthday, and cannot be seen today. If you would come back tomorrow, perhaps? I will tell him that it is most urgent.”

It’s clear they’re not the first people that have come through today; given the smell of tense anxiety winding around the man like a vice, he’s expecting them to yell and scream and have to be escorted out by guards. And given the way the guards around them smell, they expect it too. 

Erik decides it’s hardly worth kicking up a fuss over. He bows back. “It’s no problem, really. We weren’t sure if we should come or not, but decided to try anyhow. Will the Sultan be available once the races are done?”

“Of course, of course!” the advisor hastily nods, relieved that he’s dealing with level-headed guests. “If you can get in before the line, then by all means, he shall see you and help you however he can. Thank you for understanding!”

Veronica opens her mouth like she wants to start something, but Serena sharply nudges her towards the door before she can. Erik sticks himself next to El and leans close. “You want to get a room for the night and try our luck after the races?”

Eleven’s answer is waylaid as he bumps into someone - or rather, as someone rudely bumps into  _ him.  _

“Excuse me,” a young man apologizes, and then does a double-take upon seeing El, and leans in abruptly, eyeing him in a considering fashion. “Ah, you are…?”

“Ah, your Highness! These travelers were coming to see your father, but they were just leaving. Please, if you would be so kind--”

Prince Faris - because that’s who this must be, the king only has one son - stares at them, and then breaks into a beaming smile. “But of course. Although, dear guests, if you would be so kind, could you possibly wait but a moment? I have a proposition for you.”

Of course he does. Erik could almost scream for the predictability of this whole scenario. But El gives him one of those  _ looks  _ that mean  _ ‘let’s see where this takes us’  _ and so Erik finds himself metaphorically sitting on his hands, accompanying El and the other two down to the Prince’s bedroom, where Faris appears mere moments later, looking the color of milk.

“Alright,” Erik drawls. “We’re here. What do you want, Your Highness?”

“I have been informed you have come to see my father about an issue. What is this issue?”

“We’re looking for a rather important item,” Serena begins explaining. Erik watches Faris’s face as the prince listens, rapt with attention, and feels the sense of something being  _ off  _ intensify the more he watches. A Prince doesn’t summon strangers out to his room for no reason. And the way he was eying El up before--

“I would be more than happy to procure you the Rainbough,” Faris says, and Erik closes his eyes, already knowing what comes next. “ _ But,  _ I would need a small favor in return.”

Of course he would. El glances at Erik out of the corner of his eye and ducks his head, shrugging a shoulder.  _ Sorry.  _

Erik just tips his own head, shrugging a shoulder back.  _ Don’t worry about it.  _

“Ah, but these walls have ears. Let us meet tonight somewhere else… the circus, for example?”

Of course. Faris has them over a barrel, and he knows it. El agrees to meet with him, and Faris, acting like he’s just done a great deed of some sort, marches off to prepare. They leave the palace, and head to the nearest inn for the evening. 

“Sorry,” El mutters again as Serena sets an alarm to wake them all when it’s time to get up. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Erik returns, folding his arms behind his head, pretending not to see the way El cautiously scoots closer to him. “We’ll hear him out, and if it’s too terrible, we’ll just refuse and find some other way to go about this.”

Except, as it turns out, it doesn’t wind up being quite so simple, because it never is.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Apparently, Faris - despite being from a kingdom renowned for their  _ horse masters,  _ cannot, in fact, ride. He’s been paying servants and other little underlings to take his place for years, and of course nobody thought to say  _ no  _ because… well, he’s the Prince. And because he’s been ‘doing so well’ on his studies, his parents have kept raising the bar, which means Faris has had to find more and more ridiculous ways to keep up the charade, even as he’s  _ known  _ it isn’t a good idea. 

Erik kind of wants to ask how he thought this was a good idea. What, did he just assume his old man would one day look at the horse races and go ‘ _ you know what, my boy doesn’t need to participate in an ages-old tradition that has always marked the coronation of our princes into kinghood, we should just skip it for this year’  _ ?

In the background, the crowd cheers madly for Sylvando, drowning out the Princes’ words, as well as Eleven’s initial refusal. Prince Faris pretends not to have heard, cups his ear, and says, “Apologies, I didn’t catch that. Say again?”

Erik feels his eye twitch. Beneath the table, Eleven tenses up like he’s fixing to launch himself across the space and fight Faris. If he does, Erik will be right there beside him. He’ll fight the whole damned kingdom if he has to.

But at the last minute all the fight flees from El’s body, and he sighs, nodding. The Prince, predictably, is ecstatic.  _ Oh yes,  _ Erik thinks bitterly, wanting to growl.  _ Be proud of maneuvering us into a corner and then not granting us the gift of refusal. Be so very proud, Highness, and so very glad you don’t know just how close you came to death.  _

Because he would have killed Faris, if El wanted him to and was of the mind to allow it. He isn't, because that's not the way he operates. He's gentle in a way most aren't, takes blows others typically wouldn't. So someone has to be the sharp end of the blade, and it might as well be Erik.

But Faris marches out intact - and Erik catches sight of Sylvando watching him, and then briefly, his gaze flitting to them before he returns to his stage.

Things are probably going to get complicated, Erik thinks as they gather themselves up to leave and return to the inn for the night. He'll have to keep his eyes open.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x 

"Aren't you just the most patronizing little dear? Look. I'm worried about the idiot prince getting himself killed. Can I come with you, or not?"

There's more to Sylvando than meets the eye. Everyone thinks him a mere circus performer, but no performer Erik knows smells as  _ clean  _ as Sylvando does, or has a tongue so sharp as to put his own weapon to shame.

And certainly, no mere  _ circus performer  _ would carry such a blade.

Eleven has evidently picked up on it as well, because he allows Sylvando into their little group without so much as a cursory fuss. The man beams, and goes back to that ridiculous over-the-top style of walking, talking and  _ acting  _ that he did before.

And it is an act. Specifically crafted to keep his true face hidden, to keep them underestimating him - after all, what sort of warrior would consider an over-the-top performer a threat? Nobody, that’s who.

Sylvando certainly prefers to keep the world on its toes, and keep people guessing. 

"Keep your eyes on him," Erik warns El softly, dropping back briefly to do so. "I can't get a scent on him, but he's not human."

"Fox?" El murmurs back, equally low. "Trickster?" 

"Could be." Kitsune tend to smell like earth or fire, but there's nothing that says they  _ can't  _ smell like crisp valley air and dawn's first light. There are more creatures under the banner of ‘trickster’ than just foxes, although Erik knows he doesn’t know them all off the top of his head. But even if he had a book on the subject, something tells him pinpointing precisely what Sylvando is won’t be as easy as he’s hoping. 

If he’s smart enough to craft himself an identity made to disarm his threat level, he’s smart enough to avoid the tells of his species. He certainly acts like a fox in some regards though - they like to act like they don’t care when they do. Sylvando obviously has  _ some  _ kind of emotion in regards to the idiot prince they’re now traipsing after, even if he won’t admit it.

Erik slides over to Veronica and Serena not long after. “Hey,” he murmurs, and Serena sways towards him, not giving any indication that something is wrong. Ahead of them, Sylvando skips, merrily humming. Erik doesn’t believe he won’t hear them if it doesn’t suit him for an instance. “Don’t tell him more than he needs to know, yeah?”

“What’s the matter?” Veronica asks, waspish. She’s still not over El trusting him so blatantly. “Jealous that there’s more than one non-human running around?”

“I’m trying to keep El  _ safe,”  _ Erik hisses, softly. “I can’t get a bead on the guy, but anyone, human or not, that can come across as campy and over-the-top as he can, and wield a weapon like he can is not someone we need to fuck with. Don’t tell him what he doesn’t need to know, alright? All I’m asking.”

Veronica huffs and turns away, but Serena gives a firm nod. Erik drops back to stand beside El, who glances at him, and then up towards Sylvando. 

“...if it comes down to it, don’t put yourself between me and his blade,” El murmurs. Erik turns to look at him, a refusal on his lips. “Please,” El adds, and Erik feels the words lodge themselves in his throat like stones. “I’m not worth it.”

_ The hell you ain’t,  _ both he and his wolf think. 

But telling El that  _ now  _ won’t do anything to change his mind. It’ll just make him dig his heels in harder. Eleven doesn’t value himself like he does others, which drives Erik around the bend, but it's a work in progress. One day he will, and Erik will be there when it happens. For now though, they have to get the idiot Prince through this nightmare of a plan he’s concocted, and avoid getting themselves offed by the weirdo jester from an unknown court.

“Fine,” he says, when El’s stare begins to burn. “I won’t.”

El smiles, clearly thinking he’s won. But Erik never clarified what he  _ wouldn’t  _ do - and that’s the trick. Humans forget that the word of someone not-human is only as good as what is  _ clarified.  _ El might have asked him not to stick himself between the end of Sylvando’s blade and El, but Erik has only promised that he ‘won’t’ do something - that ‘something’ is up to quite a bit of interpretation without exact wording. 

Maybe it’s a bit of a low blow, to rely on trickster’s methods. But until he knows precisely who - or  _ what  _ he’s dealing with, Erik will use every trick he can to keep Eleven safe. 

And if it results in El hating him later, well. That’s fine too, he supposes. 


End file.
